"What were you going to do once you got to Moscow?"
His eyes fell. "I hadn't figured that out yet."
"Figures," Carter growled. "If you're lying, Simonov, you know you're of little use to us. If she knows what you know, we'll give you right back to them."
"She doesn't, I swear it! She knows a little, yes. Bits and pieces I told her to bring her on, get her trust… but only a few things. Don't kill her, Carter, please."
You poor fool. Carter thought, but he hauled the woman to her feet. Then he slid his arm under her shapely rear end, lifted her high in the air, and started for the bedroom.
"What… what are you doing?"
"I've got to do something with her — I can't just leave her lying in here. She's already waking up. Simonov…"
"Yes?"
"Get back up to the administration office. Explain that you and she have changed your minds. Got that?"
"Yes… yes."
"Have them change the order for your car to seven in the morning. Have them change your reservations to Moscow accordingly. Understand?"
"Yes."
"When you return, don't even bother coming in here. Go to the beach, over the wall. There's a man there with a wet suit. Get it on and be ready to go when I get there."
"I'll do it."
"You'd better."
Simonov started walking to the door, then paused and turned. "Carter…"
"Yeah?"
"You promise?"
"I promise."
"As a gentleman?"
"Look, Boris. I'm a long way from being a fucking gentleman, but you've got my word that she'll be alive when I leave here."
The Russian scooted out the door, and Carter continued on into the bedroom. Unceremoniously he dumped Anna on the bed and searched in the open suitcase for panty hose. By the time her eyes were blinking and she was shaking herself awake, both of her arms and her legs were tied securely to the four-poster.
"Bastard, you've broken my neck!" she groaned.
"You're lucky that's all," Carter said.
A string of Russian curses that even Carter didn't know erupted from her mouth as he rummaged again in the bag.
"You had better kill me, bastard, because if we ever meet again, I'll kill you… and as slowly as I can."
"You know something?" he said, pausing in his search. "I believe you. The only reason I'm not putting a needle in your arm is to keep Simonov happy."
She started to scream another series of oaths at him, but it ended abruptly when Carter rolled a pair of panties into a ball and stuffed them into her mouth.
Using a scarf from the bag, he secured the gag in her mouth and then stood staring down at her. "Stay over here. Anna. Don't come to the West again. If you do, I'll hunt you down like the viper you are."
Her eyes flashed pure hatred in reply as Carter went around the room closing drapes and shutting off lights. He did the same in the living room, then let himself out into the garden.
Kokolev waited with Simonov and the two phony Russian guards. Both of them had already shed their uniform tunics and (heir rifles for the swim. Simonov had pulled on the wet suit.
"All right, let's go!"
"Carter," Simonov stammered, "is she…"
"She's alive," Carter growled. "But she won't be if I ever see her again."
The four of them slid into the water. They retraced the swim that Carter and Kokolev had made earlier.
Ludmilla was waiting. She had dragged the powered sleds down to the beach.
Just before pushing off, Carter turned to Kokolev. "If you, or she… or any of you people ever want out…"
Kokolev interrupted him with a raised hand. "We won't."
The Killmaster nodded in understanding. He shook the big man's hand and glanced at Ludmilla. "Good luck," he said gently. Then he turned to the Russian. "C'mon, Boris!"
Two hours later they abandoned the sleds and hoisted themselves over the rail of the Rosa.
Three
Lisa Berrington's beautiful, usually soft features were set in hard lines as she tooled the little sports car across the Key Bridge from Arlington. Once over the bridge she turned right, onto the Whitehurst Freeway, and took the Wisconsin Avenue turnoff into the heart of Georgetown.
Her dark blond hair glinted in the sun as the wind swirled it about her shoulders. Her blue eyes and delicate features concentrated on the traffic around her. but a close observer would have noticed that her mind was absorbed with more than her driving.
Lisa was beautiful in a refined, classic way. She came from an old, aristocratic Virginia family, and there was nothing brassy or coarse about her, even though, no matter what she wore, her figure turned heads wherever she went.
Now she wore a simple navy skirt, a mint-green sweater set. and a navy and white scarf was draped around her neck. It was hardly the outfit she would have chosen for that day, but she had been in a hurry to leave her apartment when Ginger Bateman had agreed to meet her.
Ginger was not exactly an old friend, but because Lisa had been involved with a couple of AXE-related jobs, she knew the head of that agency's secretary and right hand fairly well.
Lisa hoped she knew Ginger well enough. She realized that the request she was about to make of the woman was pretty bizarre.
She handled the powerful little sports car with precision, driving aggressively and knowledgeably, right hand on the shift, long legs scissoring over gas, brake, and clutch with agility.
In the drive of the Pierre, a popular Georgetown restaurant, she left the motor running and accepted the attendant's hand. The car roared away into the parking lot as Lisa entered the building.
"A table for one, mademoiselle?"
"No, I'm meeting someone… a Miss Bateman."
"Ah, yes. Right this way."
The interior decor was a pleasing mixture of expensive leather, high ceilings and windows, elegant draperies, and lots of greenery.
The maitre d' guided her toward a table for two in one of the smaller dining rooms. They were halfway there when Lisa sported Ginger Bateman's glossy black hair and tall figure.
The woman looked up and smiled. Lisa returned the smile as she slid into the opposite chair.
"Good to see you again."
"Thank you," Lisa replied. "It's been a long time."
"Would mademoiselle care for a drink?"
"One of those will be fine," Lisa said, nodding toward the concoction sitting in front of Ginger.
The maitre d' glided away, and Ginger leaned forward, lowering her voice. "How's Langley?"
"Unchanged. I've been upgraded. I'm a courier now."
"Congratulations."
Neither woman voiced what their eyes were communicating. AXE had borrowed Lisa twice from the CIA for delicate missions. The second time she had almost been killed. Afterward, when she had been returned to the Company, she had been reclassified away from field agent status.
It had hurt, but Lisa had accepted it. Her superiors had feared that she had lost her nerve. Lisa feared the same thing, so she had accepted «white» work and a desk.
Being put on courier duty was a big step back up for her.
The drink came, and the two women saluted each other with their glasses.
"I must say I was a little surprised to get your call," Ginger said, studying the other woman over the rim of her glass.
"Yes, I suppose you were. I need a favor, Ginger… a big one."
"I'll do what lean."
"I need to get in touch with Nick Carter."
Bateman's face turned to stone. Her hard eyes stopped any further mention of AXE's top agent.
"I suggest that we have lunch and then take a drive around beautiful Georgetown."
Lisa nodded. "That might be a good idea."
"Shall we order? The name is French, but they have marvelous German dishes," Ginger said, replastering a smile on her face.